


Shake

by wallyamorous (roseyjakes)



Series: Volatile Molecules [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BPD Wally West, Barry is dead but he sure isn't acting like it, Biracial Wally West, F/M, Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseyjakes/pseuds/wallyamorous
Summary: Wally loses Iris and Barry so soon after another- he doesn't know what to do or where he fits in post-Crisis. But things always get better. They always do.That is, until Barry comes back.





	Shake

**Author's Note:**

> Is this an edgy beginning to a story? You bet. But it's building from here, don't worry.
> 
> Hopefully knowledge of pre-NU52 canon won't be needed to enjoy this story, especially considering how much it diverges, but reading Flash V2 helps. Fingers crossed!
> 
>  
> 
> I don't have a beta reader but if you want I'm open to having one.

No one else could see it, Wally didn't think. But his powers, his damned powers– he could see it all, watched helpless as Barry seemed to age years in the blink of a second, the life sucked slowly out of him until his brittle skin showed every bone and his sunken eyes turned gray and dark. He just kept running, even as his very skin peeled off his bones. And right in front of his eyes, Barry broke apart and turned to dust. 

Wally screamed 

A grim procession walked bleary eyed through the rain, a small group of family and friends here for the private funeral of not Barry Allen, the Flash, but Barry Allen, the man, family to anyone who knew him, a brilliant scientist–and a good person. On the right stood Bruce Wayne, Princess Diana–in full ceremonial battle armor–and Hal Jordan, all three stone-faced as they followed behind the coffin. On the left, Wally, J’onn, and Dinah and Oliver. Wally’s eyes were red-rimmed and dull, dead to the world as he shambled ahead, and he barely flinched when Bruce placed a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. A gathering of relatives and friends of Barry’s, all in black, huddling under black umbrellas, waited at the grave. Amongst them was Dick and Donna, the only friends of Wally there. Wally stood between Bruce and Hal on the edge of the gaping pit in the earth as the empty coffin was lowered down to be swallowed whole. 

Wally’s soul felt hollowed out. 

There wasn't even Aunt Iris to comfort him– and thinking about her was a mistake, when her gravestone was right next to where Barry’s now stood. His eyes watered and hands shook and it felt like being twelve again, like he was going to shake into his every individual molecule and fall apart. 

He was crying again, and Hal’s arms were around him in seconds, ready to catch him if he fell. Wally leaned into Hal’s chest, not conscious of how soaking wet his suit jacket was, not conscious of anything really except. God, he was embarrassing. He didn’t need to be held up by anyone. They already had enough on their shoulders without him weighing them down 

“I’m okay now.” 

Hal let go after a moment, eyes shining, but Hal was the kind of person who never cried in front of others, who shut himself away to appear tough until he didn't feel strongly at all, and for him that was a good thing if it means they never see you weak. Wally needed that now, that false, seeming strength. 

He wasn't ready, but the funeral ended, and then Wally was back into that floating in between, and he distracted himself by trying to talk to the others, people he didn't really know but must have known Barry. But all they had to say were platitudes, sorry for your losses, any number of slight variation and none seemed to really care. What were they here for? A sort of heat rose up in his chest suddenly, filling the gaping nothing, and he fed it gleefully, a simmering rage rising in his throat like bile, until it burst and he was yelling at Barry’s coworker/distant relative/something-or-other, angry tears streaming down his face. 

Before anyone even had the chance to turn and stare, he was gone. 

Running, of course, was his specialty, even with some years disuse, and in one second real time he found himself at Barry and Iris' house, stumbling on the rain slick pavement. 

The lawn was overgrown, left untended by anyone. Boxes were stacked up on the sidewalk. He passed them by after pausing to look at them for a moment. He rubbed at his eyes, but his sleeves were wet and his hands were wet and his face was wet and it did absolutely nothing to clear them out. 

There were keys hidden in the light above the door that no one else had found yet, because Barry had lots of extra keys hidden by the door--he’d always forgotten his when he was trying to get back in the house--and Wally reached and grabbed them, fumbling them as he unlocked the door and walked wobbly into the house. He slammed the door shut behind him just in time to collapse against the closed door, sliding down to curl up against the solid wood. 

He didn't notice the first knock, but the second, louder this time, shook some off the cobwebs cluttering his skull. 

“Go away.” 

It came out whiny as hell, but Wally didn't have the good will to be embarrassed over sounding like a toddler right now. In the ensuing silence, Wally held himself even tighter, eyes fixated on the floor but not really seeing anything. 

“Wally.” 

Wally jumped a little, hands dropping to the floor where his jaw must have dropped. Without even thinking he got up and opened the door, maybe out of surprise, maybe not really believing because it didn't make sense, Wally wasn't sure, or maybe because Bruce just had that kind of voice. But it was. Bruce Wayne stared back at him, blue eyes bright and sad, and Wally thought, wildly, if Bruce was planning to adopt him now (ignoring the fact his parents were still alive and Wally had been a legal adult for nearly two years now). 

Bruce didn't say anything, but it was the rare smile he gave him, a smile from somewhere where Batman and Bruce Wayne connected, that spoke more than anything he could've said. Wally’s throat felt thick, like someone had shoved wads of cotton down it, and he choked on another useless sob, his tears all used up already. He was falling again, always falling, but Bruce’s arm were around him, holding him steady while Wally sat on the porch and cried. 

“How did you know to find me here, and also how did you guess before Dick?” Man, and that had sounded like he'd been talking through a mouthful of gravel. He could give Bruce's gravelly Batman voice a run for it’s money right now. He coughed. To add injury to insult, he was just now realizing the porch was wet, and now, so too was his ass. “Also also, why did you come instead of, I dunno, sending Dick?” 

Bruce gave Wally this strange look he couldn't read. 

“People have a tendency to be drawn to the homes of their deceased loved ones, to find closure, and I know this place is a place you always found safe.” At Wally’s wide eyed shock, Bruce quickly elaborated. “Barry talked a lot about you. And Dick. Dick specifically said you always liked it here more then your house, because your house never felt like your home. He worried about you, so he talked to me about it. I’m sure Dick figured out where you went too, but I got here first and thought it better he go home. Was that the wrong action–?” Wally shook his head before Bruce could finish that. 

“No– thank you. I– this is good. I love Dick, but he'd– he’d try to get me to talk about it and I just needed someone here. Thank you by the way.” Bruce looked a lot more relieved than he should've that he hadn't made the wrong call, but that was Bruce for you. 

“But, again, why not just send Dick anyway? Dick’s famous for his person skills and he is my best friend, and I didn't think you–” Wally waved his hands vaguely, not wanting to insult him though he could use a good foot in his mouth right about now. Bruce had the good grace to not be too annoyed by the implication, and he was used to it anyway. 

“I didn't think Dick was who you needed right now, and I care about you as a person Wally.” Bruce shifted uncomfortably, rough hands long removed from around Wally and now curled in his lap, twisting nervously at fabric of his suit pants. “You’re family to me.” 

Bruce muttered it, but it rung in Wally's ears, clears as a bell. 

“You’ve been friends with Dick from nearly the beginning, and Barry was someone I had proudly considered a friend as well. Considering how much time you’ve spent at the Batcave, being a general nuisance–” Bruce huffed, and Wally nearly smiled. “You’ve lost two people in the span of weeks that I knew loved you like you hung the sun and stars in the heavens, and I can only assume you loved them the same if not more. Loss like that can't be suffered alone, not something that devastating. Just know I’m here for you.” 

Wally sniffled and nodded, throat tight. He felt like if he tried to speak the dams would break and he'd be crying again. A moment passed. Then Bruce rose to his feet and looked at Wally with a frown. 

“You need to change, you’re soaking and you’ll catch a cold.” 

Wally gave a choked bark of laughter, a little hysterical. “Okay _mom_.”


End file.
